


Stricken by Guilt

by SunhatLlama



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Athos is more attached than he realized, Brotherhood, Brothers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Episode: s01e02 Sleight of Hand, Explosions should hurt, Gen, Guilt, Guilty d'Artagnan (Trois Mousquetaires), Hurt d'Artagnan (Trois Mousquetaires), Hurt/Comfort, I need more fluff from this episode, Injured d'Artagnan (Trois Mousquetaires), POV Athos | Comte de la Fère, Protective Athos | Comte de la Fère, Spoilers, Worried Athos | Comte de la Fère, d'Artagnan (Trois Mousquetaires) Angst, d'Artagnan (Trois Mousquetaires) POV, d'Artagnan (Trois Mousquetaires) Whump, like really bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28972374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunhatLlama/pseuds/SunhatLlama
Summary: After the fact, he would find it ironic; the very thing that was supposed to kill him had instead been his savior. While he had escaped with his life, his friends didn't seem to hold the same mindset when it came to the definition of being "fine".A rewrite of episode two from season one.Be prepared for more whumpage and feelings, it was sorely lacking in the show....The waves from the explosion rocked his body and pushed him to the ground, slamming his head onto the hard stone. White-hot pain tore through his body and he was sure that he screamed, but the ringing in his ears blocked any noise from reaching his mind.His eyes fluttered closed and his body fell slack against the ground.I’m sorry Athos.
Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay & d'Artagnan, d'Artagnan & Athos | Comte de la Fère, d'Artagnan & Porthos du Vallon
Comments: 28
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still alive! This is a new fandom for me and I am excited to write some stories for this show.
> 
> This is my rewrite of episode two, "Sleight of Hand." I know it has been done before, but I still needed more whump in my life. All the dialogue in chapter one was from the show, I do not own the conversation.
> 
> Btw, I have not abandoned my other stories just yet.

Through the haze of his mind, d'Artagnan heard the sound of something dripping. He tried to remember where he was, groaning as his movements caused a stab of pain to shoot through his head. He stopped, waiting until the pounding against his skull abated enough before trying to determine why there was a wet chill in the air. A distinct, musty smell remained present as he tried to will his brain to stop protesting every thought. It was then that it hit him.

_Vadim._

Fluttering his eyes open, d'Artagnan took in his surroundings hastily. He nearly blanched as he realized that his hands were bound to two barrels. The missing gunpowder, his sluggish mind supplied; he must have been hit in the head, for he was having a very hard time focusing. He turned his attention back to his front, thrashing against his constraints. Vadim was kneeling, moving something with his hands, a candle burning dimly in the dark room. From where he was tied up, he knew exactly what the man was doing.

"I was hoping you'd wake." Vadim turned his head to look at him. "I wouldn't want you to miss the highpoint of our brief acquaintance."

D'Artagnan stopped his movements, peering over as the escaped prisoner continued to keep looking up in the direction of the exit. "Where are we?"

"In the tunnels, under the louvre. They run from the palace to the city wall. Built by one of our king's forebears as an escape route." Vadim stood up, fuse in hand, walking towards one of the barrels on d'Artagnan's right. "Bricked up in the time of Henri IV. I discovered them whilst working in the palace kitchens."

The man stopped, grabbing more of the long rope out as he showed d"Artagnan his hand, a smug look on his face. "You can almost feel the heat of the bread ovens.

He paused slightly after the sentence.

"You see, d'Artagnan, servants are like rats." That was when Vadim bent over and started shoving the fuse into the larger pile of gunpowder. "They'll find all manner of secret exits and entrances."

In an instant, d'Artagnan realized the immense danger he and anyone in the vicinity was. His gut twisted uncomfortably at the realization and he stared down the small candle that would no doubt decide his fate.

"In exactly fifteen minutes, that candle will burn down and light the fuse that will explode the powder stored in those barrels."

"Blowing me to pieces," he added, the words almost murmured under his breath.

Vadim looked into his eyes. "Well, certainly, but that's not the main purpose of the exercise."

D'Artagnan peered vehemently at the other man. "You know, it doesn't matter what you do to me, Vadim. You've _failed_ —I told the Musketeers everything.

Before he could say another word, Vadim lunged at d'Artagnan's face and grabbed a hold of his collar, the violent grip momentarily shocking him.

"You told them _exactly_ what I wanted you to tell them." The man's breath blew hot air into his face, the horrid smell making him almost regret egging him on. "I explained the trick to you, d'Artagnan. You should have paid more attention."

He looked on with a pang of sudden, heart-wrenching guilt. He had failed the musketeers. The information he had gathered wasn't even correct; it was a sham, a trick that he fell blindly into like the naive boy everyone thought he was. Apparently, they were correct. Maybe he wasn't cut out to be a Musketeer.

Vadim pushed himself off of his knees and stepped over to his bag, putting his explosives inside before walking towards the flickering candle.

"Fourteen minutes," the man supplied. "Tick, tock, tick, tock."

The door slammed shut behind him.

D'Artagnan once again began to jerk against the ropes confining him to his certain death, his wild movements making the course bindings scrape against his wrists. All the while he stared down the slowly melting wax in front of him, the flickering light a constant reminder of what was at stake. He needed to find Vadim and fast.

Looking frantically around him in search of anything that would aid in his escape, he noticed that the barrels of gunpowder were bound together by metal. Not taking a moment to hesitate, he instantly began to rub his bindings against the barrels. He breathed hard in the moist air, willing his arm to go faster as he knew his time was dwindling. The sweat beading across his forehead dripped down into his eyes, but he didn't dare stop his incessant movements. Fear squeezed his heart, but guilt held on harder. He couldn't let Vadim get away, it would be an insult to the captain as well as his three friends, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis—if he could even call them friends. His headache throbbed painfully in his ears, the sound akin to a countdown to his death, and by extension, his failure.

The fibers holding his binding together snapped, the sound causing d'Artagnan to flinch out of his thoughts. He was free. Hope blossomed in his chest as he flung the ropes to the ground.

Then he spared a look at the candle ahead of him.

It had gone out.

His frantic thoughts flooded back to his mind until he realized that the fuse had not been lit; his body relaxed back against the wooden barrels and he let out a sigh of relief. He would be spared from that kind of death.

That was when he heard the fizzing.

He glanced again towards the fuse, eyes widening in horror as it burned along the rope and was beginning to make its way towards the gunpowder.

D'Artagnan rushed to free his other hand from the ropes. He fumbled with the constraints. For some reason, his fingers would not go faster. His chest heaved as he tried to calm himself down, but he was failing miserably. He kept glancing back at the fuse—it was getting too close! His mind was flung into further chaos as adrenaline began to flow through his veins. Another look at the fuse made him pale even further.

He finally broke free from the ropes and lunged forward, grabbing the fuse and ripping it away from the gunpowder before throwing it across the tunnel. He let out a breath of relief, his body screaming for rest. The danger had passed. He chuckled—that was too close a call.

Instead of letting himself lay on the dirty floor, he pushed himself to his feet, swaying a little as the adrenaline faded from his body. Time to find Vadim. Stepping towards the door, D'Artagnan reached for the handle and pulled on it. Instead of opening, the door jerked in his hand. _The hell_ —why wouldn't the door open? It wasn't locked. Trying again to pull the door open, he gripped the handle again and yanked it harder, smiling when it flung open with his last tug.

His smirk was ripped from his face once again as more fuses sprung up underneath his feet. The sparks flew across his feet as he turned back to look at the barrels. _You've got to be kidding me._ Launching himself at the lit fuses, he tried to douse them by stepping on the burning end of each one. To his horror, his efforts were not stopping the sparks. The smoke caused by the burning rope was causing him to cough, and with one last glance towards the barrels, he accepted the fact that he couldn't stop the explosion.

D'Artagnan turned to the door and sprinted out into the adjacent tunnel, not stopping as he tried to get as far away from the explosion as he could. A part of him knew he wouldn't get far enough to survive. With one last burst of speed, he used up his reserves and ran faster than he had ever before.

Even though he was expecting it, the sharp bang was a shock to his body. The waves from the explosion rocked his body and pushed him to the ground, slamming his head onto the hard stone. White-hot pain tore through his body and he was sure that he screamed, but the ringing in his ears blocked any noise from reaching his mind.

His eyes fluttered closed and his body fell slack against the ground.

_I'm sorry Athos._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two is here! Wrote this one very quickly somehow--don't ask me how it happened. Hope you enjoy it!

Athos opened his eyes to a cloud of dust, the haze clogging his throat. The walls around him rumbled, raining down more debris. Right, explosion. He coughed, trying to clear his throat. Before he could push himself off the ground, he froze. Where were Porthos and Aramis? Straining his eyes, Athos searched for his brothers in the pile of stone beneath him. He instantly relaxed when he saw both of them okay; Aramis seemed to have awakened before him, but Porthos was only just getting up, trying to hack up whatever he had inhaled while unconscious.

Standing up, Athos remembered that they still had a job to do. Vadim was still at large, and the longer they waited, the sooner the man would slip through their hands and be gone forever. "Let's go," he said towards his friends. "Vadim is still in these tunnels."

Aramis nodded, frowning at Porthos and appeared to be scanning him for injuries. The man was bent over, trying to catch his breath. If Aramis was worried, that meant Athos was worried as well.

Porthos must have realized their concern, as he then gestured towards them. "I'm okay," he said, standing tall. "Just some bruised ribs."

The man's acknowledgment of the injury spurred his own mind into thinking about his condition. All at once, his body screamed at him, he definitely had some bruised ribs as well. He would have to have Aramis look them over once the mission was over.

It was Aramis who spoke next. "Good, then let's find Vadim and d'Artagnan."

 _D'Artagnan._ The man they had sent to do their dirty work, the boy that was probably dead as far they knew. To Athos' surprise, guilt soared throughout his mind, eating away at his stoic mask and threatening his legs to collapse. What was wrong with him? He barely knew the man, much less cared about him. He did his job, there was nothing Athos could have done.

" _We could have stopped him."_

He took a deep breath. _The mission comes first._

Athos took off running into the now-revealed tunnels, not looking back to see if the others were coming, he knew they were. He swerved around the small fires that littered the ground and tried to listen for footsteps. The tunnels echoed sounds around them, and it didn't take long for the Musketeers to find Vadim's men. Athos spared a glance back at his brothers, seeing their expressions of confidence, and then walked forward into the view of the criminals.

"Hold it right there," Porthos growled, showing his teeth as he practically snarled at them.

"Musketeers!" one of the men yelled, reaching for his gun as the others around him did the same. "Kill them!"

The man at the front of the group fired his pistol, missing as the Musketeers bent down. Porthos snapped back up and fired his own shot at the same person. The bullet was a direct hit to the chest.

Athos ripped his rapier out of its sheath and stepped towards the incoming attacker, each with their own sword. A quick glance to the others showed that they too had unsheathed their weapons. The three quickly dispatched the men, dealing serious wounds to them before continuing on their way.

Athos paled when he saw the sight of blood pooling on the ground. His mind remembered back to the last time he saw it. D'Artagnan. His blood had stained the floor of that basement, the image forever sticking in Athos' memory. What had he done to deserve his fate? Nothing. He was just a boy. _Just like my brother was_. He squeezed his eyes shut. He needed to keep it together.

"You okay, Athos?" Aramis was in his face, looking him over as if he were about to suddenly drop to the ground.

For some reason, his momentary loss of focus caused him to stand in place. No wonder they thought he was about to keel over and die.

"I'm fine."

Aramis looked at him, eyes narrowed. He didn't believe him.

Athos glared at the man, moving out of the way and further down the tunnels. "We need to get moving."

His brothers were obviously displeased, but they kept their mouths shut about it.

Suddenly, the distinct sound of swords scraping against each other hit all of their ears, and they looked at each other knowingly. Vadim. The sharp noises were accompanied by yells and by the pounding of feet. Whoever was fighting Vadim seemed to be making him mad. Voices pierced through the haze and Athos swore he recognized one of them—another musketeer perhaps?

He urged his body to move faster, Vadim would not be allowed to escape a second time. _And not after killing d'Artagnan._ Anger flew through his body after that thought, but he didn't try and stop it. The man was a murderer and he deserved to die a painful death. Athos would avenge d'Artagnan and receive justice for the boy's murder.

The musketeers ran down the tunnel in the direction of the sounds, hoping that they weren't too late to catch Vadim. Turning the corner, they came upon a man flinging a torch wildly around him—only it wasn't Vadim.

Coming into the light of the torch, Athos nearly flinched back. Staring him in the face was d'Artagnan—alive and standing strong in front of him. His mind went blank. The fear gripping his heart lessened its hold and allowed his body to lose some of its tension. _Thank god._

"So you are alive," he sighed, visible relief pooling out of his movements.

D'Artagnan looked at him strangely, but Athos swore he saw tension leave his expression the second they showed up. "I think so."

They all took a moment to breathe, seemingly soaking up each other's presence.

"Vadim?" Aramis finally asked, his frown lessening as he looked at the boy in front of him.

"Wounded, badly," d'Artagnan replied. "He can't have got far."

It was then when he noticed the blood dripping down his temple, the red liquid soaking his hairline. It appeared dried, but he couldn't be sure in the dark, dusty tunnel. The man breathed hard, trying to get more air into his lungs; the fatigue was most likely from his fight with Vadim.

Aramis must have noticed it too, for when Athos went to look at him, he was staring the boy down. Searching for any weakness or sign of injury. He must not have seen anything too serious, for he turned around and went after their runaway criminal. Athos and the others quickly followed him.

He allowed himself a moment of weakness, blinking away his tears before replacing his relief with a stern scowl. D'Artagnan was alive. And for the life of him, Athos had no idea why he cared so much about that particular fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I would love to hear your feedback.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter! I promise the next one will be out soon.

D'Artagnan didn't remember the act of breathing being so hard.

It was simple, really. Breath in air, breath out air. He shouldn't have been having as much difficulty as he was. His lungs pushed against his damaged ribs, causing every intake of breath to jab a sharp ripple of agony through his chest. He was forced to take short, shallow breaths to keep his pain under control; it was only a matter of time before someone noticed.

"Vadim definitely came this way." Porthos. From where d'Artagnan was standing, he saw that the man was crouching down on his knees, looking at something in the dirt.

Aramis spoke up next. "What makes you say that?"

In response, the bigger man held up a golden necklace, the gleaming accessory shining in the light of their torch. D'Artagnan had passed the burning stick to Athos once they started running after Vadim together. He was glad to pass on the burden, for he wasn't sure he could stay standing up for much longer, much less continue holding both the torch and his sword. It was concerning, to say the least, but he didn't dare speak a word of protest to the others. They needed to find Vadim; the mission came before everything else.

"Is there any more?" Athos asked, an eyebrow raised, gesturing to the necklace in Porthos' hand.

"See for yourself."

D'Artagnan forced himself to follow their gazes. The blood rushed from his face when he turned, a sharp tingling replacing the throbbing pain in his extremities. _That is not good_ , he thought absently. He stopped, glaring at a spot on the ground in an attempt at getting his body under control. _Breath in, breath out._

"D'Artagnan?"

It took him a second to realize that they were talking to him. "Yes?" he replied as steadily as he could, turning his eyes to look at the others. He settled on staring into Athos' eyes—as he was the closest to him—and willed his hands to stop shaking.

"Are you okay?" Aramis asked, his face once again turned into a frown. _No, probably not._

"I'm fine," he spoke quickly. It was not the time to worry about his condition. When the others continued to stare at him, he quirked his eyebrows up. "What?"

The three musketeers turned to look at each other before Athos sighed. "As I was saying, Vadim has most likely gone this way. We need to hurry." The man nodded to them, his gaze lingering on d'Artagnan for a moment, then took off jogging. D'Artagnan would need to do a better job at concealing his pain if he were to be of use to the others in the future.

XXXXXX

"Stop there, Vadim!" Porthos growled towards the limping man. "Stop!"

The four men stepped into the light, exiting the tunnel a few steps behind the criminal, each brandishing their swords as they crept closer. The sun glared into d'Artagnan's eyes, burning holes through his skull. Black spots danced across his vision; he could barely see where he was walking. He had been successful in staying steady for the short distance they had traveled, but he was beginning to doubt that he would make it much longer. _Explosions are no joke, apparently._

D'Artagnan sprinted ahead of the others, spotting the outline of Vadim's form, and cut him off before he could get any farther. He pointed his rapier towards the injured man, his arm shaking slightly at the strain, but before he could shove the man to the ground, Vadim fell to his knees.

"I should have strangled you at the Chatelet...saved myself a lot of trouble," the man glowered at d'Artagnan.

The other musketeers surrounded the dying man, watching the conversation play out. They each had an expression of neutrality, but the frowns adorning their face spoke of a concern d'Artagnan couldn't comprehend.

"Why didn't you?"

"For the fun of it," he breathed, falling down onto his side, his wound pooling blood onto the dirt below him. "It was a good trick, it should have worked."

D'Artagnan took a breath, watching the life fade from Vadim's eyes as he knelt closer to the man. "It nearly did."

With his special coin in hand, the man let out his last exhale and his body went limp, staring up at the gray, clouded sky. He was dead; they succeeded.

As if planned, d'Artagnan's body chose that time to scream in agony, shooting pain and misery through him. His head exploded and all thoughts left his head—it was replaced by the never-ending slamming of his pulse. A groan pushed past his clenched jaw, his breath catching in his throat as he lost feeling in his limbs once again. _No, not_ _ **now.**_

He could hear the others talking, but the words were muffled by the incessant shrieking in his head. All at once, their conversation stopped and d'Artagnan stared at them, curious as to the cause, before letting his gaze fall once again. The pounding of feet around him was barely audible as he fought to stay upright, his vision tunneling in the bright sun. His eyelids fluttered closed just as he saw his friends rushing towards him. D'Artagnan's numbed legs gave out below him, his body slamming to the ground and jostling his broken ribs against his throbbing chest just as Aramis slid to his side.

And then he knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! And a special thanks to everyone that commented, bookmarked, gave kudos, and subscribed! It makes me so happy :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I hope you all like it! This is where the fun begins...

"I should have strangled you at the Chatelet...saved myself a lot of trouble," Vadim spoke, his eyebrows glaring up at the boy.

"Why didn't you?" D'Artagnan replied evenly.

Athos noticed a tremor ripple its way through the kid's body, the wave causing a look of discomfort to cross his face. Was he more injured than they had originally thought? He frowned at that thought, letting his gaze fall again on the boy's shaking frame.

"For the fun of it," Vadim breathed, falling down onto his side, his wound pooling blood onto the dirt below him. "It was a good trick, it should have worked."

D'Artagnan took a breath, kneeling down next to the dying criminal. "It nearly did."

Athos let out a sigh, he knew that the boy was correct. Many mistakes had been made regarding this mission, and he couldn't help the guilt building its way up through his heart. People could have been killed, including the King and Queen. If only he had realized the trick sooner, he could have stopped the whole event from taking place.

Vadim fell limp to the ground, his eyes turned up to the sky, but Athos wasn't concerned with him. D'Artagnan had begun to shake like a leaf, staring at the ground. He wasn't moving.

"Aramis..?" Athos left the question hanging, for he knew that the man would understand.

The sharpshooter met his gaze, nodded, then turned to d'Artagnan. The man let out a sound of disbelief, then ran at the boy as fast as he could.

Athos stood frozen. He watched as d'Artagnan's eyes rolled to the back of his head—his body falling to the ground next to Vadim when Aramis was too late to catch him. The impact knocked the breath out of him; Athos couldn't breathe.

Aramis knelt down next to the boy, attempting to prod him awake. "D'Artagnan!"

"What happened to him? He was jus' fine a second ago." Porthos crossed the short distance to Aramis' side in an instant, leaving Athos standing alone.

Athos couldn't move. His feet were chained to the ground, dragging his mind deeper into the hole of guilt he had dug for himself. He stared at d'Artagnan's limp body, his pulse throbbing in his ears as the world around him became blurred behind the confines of his protected heart.

A movement caught his eye, and a face suddenly appeared in front of him. It was Porthos. The bigger man grabbed onto his arm, the limb weighing heavily at his side, limp. He thought his name was called.

A yell from afar pierced through his head, but he paid no attention to it, only to the roaring of his blood to his head.

Whatever was said must have meant something to Porthos, because the next thing he knew, he was sitting on the ground, his friend pushing down on his shoulders.

All Athos could do was stare. Stare at d'Artagnan's pale, unmoving face.

Was he dying? After everything the boy had accomplished, was he destined to die there along with Vadim?

Before he could delve deeper into his pool of guilt, a hand slapped him across his face—knocking him out of the haze.

Snapping back to reality, Athos took in a sharp breath as his senses turned back on. He suddenly became aware of the tension between his brothers; he must have been unresponsive to them for some time. Heaving himself out of his sitting position and onto his feet, he tried to regain his carefree mask, breathing hard against his chest. "Is he dead?" He gestured to d'Artagnan's still unmoving body.

Aramis let out a sigh of relief, but his frown stayed firmly in place. "Not yet he isn't. But if we don't get him to the garrison immediately, he will die."

The reality of the situation dawned on all three of them.

"Porthos, help me carry him." Aramis beckoned the man to him.

The two managed to lift the boy off the ground and into Porthos' arms, waiting for an indignant murmur from the lad, but d'Artagnan made no noise of protest.

Athos watched, feeling detached from the situation. He was no good at helping the injured, nor was he good at worrying about people. It messed with his head, made him lose focus. Sure, Aramis and Porthos got injured occasionally, but they didn't randomly pass out after appearing fine.

"C'mon, Athos! We have to move."

With one last look at Vadim's corpse, Athos turned away and followed his brothers.

XXXXXX

The three entered the garrison, d'Artagnan in tow, rushing as fast as they could back to the barracks, hoping that the boy wouldn't die from blood loss before they made it.

Athos didn't know how grave d'Artagnan's wounds were, but from Aramis' expression and short temper, he could tell it was not good. The older man stepped further ahead of the others and tried to make a clear path for them. He then noticed that in his haste, he was automatically leading them towards his own small room. Since d'Artagnan wasn't a Musketeer yet, nor even a recruit, Athos didn't know how the captain would feel about bringing the lad to the Musketeer infirmary. While Athos hardly ever went to the barracks to sleep, for he had his own apartments in a separate part of the town, the room was kept tidy and clean—a stark contrast to his actual bedroom.

"In here," he spoke to Porthos and Aramis, noticing their surprised expressions, but choosing not to explain himself. Porthos laid d'Artagnan down on Athos' bed and swiftly moved away from his side to let Aramis through.

Aramis slid to the young man's side and opened up his medkit, the man pulling it out. Athos shook his head; Aramis was always prepared. "I need a bucket of water and some towels." The field medic did not look up. "Perhaps one warm and one cold, who knows if a fever will develop. I can't tell if his wounds are infected yet."

Porthos nodded and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. Athos stood in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do. Part of him yearned to go to the boy's side, if only just to reassure himself that d'Artagnan was still alive, but he hesitated.

As it turned out, Aramis made the decision for him. "Athos, I need help undressing him."

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his mind of his thoughts, Athos stepped towards the bed and sat in the chair to d'Artagnan's left with Aramis across from him. They began the painstaking task of weaving his limbs out of his undershirt and doublet. Athos gasped when he saw the extensive burns creeping across the boy's entire back, the wounds raw and leaking pus.

He swung his head around up to Aramis. "Are they infected?" Athos didn't know why he asked, he knew what the answer would be. He had seen wounds like that numerous times, though not as extensive as d'Artagnan's.

The medic's expression turned instantly sour, his frown deepening into a grimace. "Yes."

The door pushed open and Porthos stepped in, noticing the grim expressions on his brother's faces and he instantly knew something was wrong. "What happened?"

It was Aramis who answered. "His back is burned, badly...the wounds have begun to fester." Noticing the water that Porthos had just brought in, the man continued. "Bring that water over here, we will need to clean these wounds once I complete my examination."

"How did d'Artagnan acquire these injuries?" Athos was nearly sick at the thought of the boy standing up on his own in the tunnels, much less fighting with them in battle!

Porthos' eyes went wide, clapping his hand together softly. "Explosion. He must hav' been caught in it like we were."

All of their expressions lit up at the realization, before recognizing that the boy must have been closer to the explosion they were. _Much_ closer. Looking over the burns littering his body, it appeared as though the flames had directly licked at his skin.

The two continued to remove articles of clothing after another, each brother grimacing when they found more injuries. In addition to the burns, they discovered two bloody lines carved into the boy's wrists, a line carved down his right thigh, and numerous dark purple and yellow bruises; not all of them were new.

The brothers all gasped in horror. d'Artagnan appeared to have been held captive, tied up. And from the looks of it, he had frantically rubbed the skin raw in an attempt to escape his bonds. They all knew that the boy's treachery had been discovered, but none of them knew the extent of the things he was exposed to in his time held captive by Vadim.

" _I should have strangled you at the Chatelet…"_

God, Vadim knew the entire time. That was why he had it all planned out, he purposefully gave d'Artagnan the wrong information in a perfectly formed plan to veer them in the wrong direction. Athos spared a look towards the boy's neck, searching for the telltale sign of attempted strangulation, but sighed when he saw none. Lucky for them, Vadim didn't decide to kill d'Artagnan in the end.

"Vadim knew," he said to the others. "The entire time."

"And we let d'Artagnan go back in there," Porthos growled, the man slamming his fist into the table he had sat down at. "We could have stopped him...but we let ourselves be played by Vadim—"

"—Causing d'Artagnan to take the fall for our misjudgment and mistake," Aramis finished.

A passage of silence fell upon the Inseparables, letting each of them think about the events that played out the past two days.

Aramis was the one who broke the silence, nodding to himself before speaking. "I need help cleaning and stitching up these wounds."

Athos and Porthos instantly snapped to attention, the older man sitting straighter in his chair, hands ready, while the other jumped to his feet and rushed over to Aramis' side.

"We need to stitch up his leg first, he received a long slice to his thigh at some point and it's bleeding heavily. If we don't stitch it up first, he will succumb to blood-loss before we can finish up the rest of him."

Nodding, Athos reached an arm across the boy's chest, weighing him down, but being mindful of his many wounds. Porthos moved down to the lad's calves.

Wiping away the surface blood with his towel, Aramis positioned his needle and thread, pushing it through d'Artagnan's crimson-stained skin all the while hoping that he wouldn't wake up mid-stitch. Lucky for them all, the boy had not stirred. Athos felt a stab of worry over that fact but was glad that he didn't have to witness d'Artagnan's painful awakening yet. Aramis swiftly closed the injury and began to wrap the limb with a generous amount of bandages, the layers providing coverage and protection against irritation and infection. Athos was happy that he had watched Aramis work after all those years. A knowledge of field medicine was crucial when it came to dangerous missions, especially when Aramis was the one needing help.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Aramis wiped an arm across his brow, not letting his now-bloodied hand touch his face. Athos could see the man shook as he dried off his hands, trying to remove the red stain from his fingers.

"Porthos, I need you to hold his legs down, hard, Athos, lift him up and hold his shoulders steady. This will be very painful, so he will likely stir from his unconscious state..." The man didn't need to say anymore, they all knew what was in store for d'Artagnan.

Their expressions turned dark as Aramis reached for the moistened towel, moving towards the boy's damaged back. The three brothers tensed in anticipation for the violent reaction they knew was coming, holding their breaths as Aramis began to gently rub the towel along the tender, raw wounds.

The explosion was instantaneous.

D'Artagnan's eyes shot open, shrieking at the pain that was no-doubt blazing through the boy's body, and Athos had to grip the lad tighter to keep him still. He tossed and turned, trying to get away from Aramis' hands, but Athos and Porthos held strong.

Aramis was grimacing even harder. "You need to calm him down! He is going to hyperventilate if we don't do something!" he exclaimed harshly over d'Artagnan's screams.

Athos turned towards the man, dismayed. How could he calm the terror-stricken boy down? Then, he had an idea.

"D'Artagnan," he tried, his tone calm. "It is going to be fine, you need to slow your breathing."

D'Artagnan's eyes glazed with pain, not aware of his surroundings. It didn't even look like the lad had heard him.

"Aramis, he can't hear me."

"No...it's working, keep talking to him! His breaths are slowing."

_Okay then_. "D'Artagnan, I know this hurts, but we need to clean your wounds, otherwise they will get infected…" Athos almost gave up speaking to him, noting his unchanged condition, but continued on. "If you want to be a musketeer someday, you will need to be alive to see your dream come true."

Aramis and Porthos shared a look, but Athos paid them no mind, only focused on getting d'Artagnan to calm down.

Eventually, the pain became too much and the boy lost consciousness, d'Artagnan falling limp in his arms. At first, Athos panicked, thinking that the lad had finally keeled over and died, but sighed when he felt the quickened thrumming under his fingertips. He let his grip lessen, realizing that he was holding on very tightly to the young man's shoulders. Athos felt a stab of guilt, all he did was give the boy more bruises.

"It was about time he passed out," Aramis said, sighing heavily into the air. "Most people don't last that long through the pain."

Athos continued to help hold d'Artagnan up as Aramis began to wrap the now-cleaned burns, shifting uncomfortably when he saw the boy's body twitch at the excessive prodding to his sensitive skin.

"Will he be okay?" Athos breathed, turning his gaze to the ground.

Aramis looked up at the rarely spoken words. "I am confident he will survive this."

Athos swung his head up to look into Aramis' eyes.

The medic continued, smiling softly. "He's a strong young man, he should be able to pull through his injuries relatively easy."

All Athos could do was return his gaze down, looking at d'Artagnan's slack, pain-creased face. He didn't know how to feel about any of it.

After a moment of silence between the three, Aramis went back to d'Artagnan and completed his examination, but Athos couldn't tear his eyes from the boy.

The medic must have completed looking him over, for he spoke next, gesturing towards Athos and Porthos. "Would you guys like to hear the complete list of injuries?"

"Do any of them impede his ability to recover?"

Aramis squinted sadly, thinking about it. "Possibly?"

"Out wit' it, Aramis...I can tell there's somethin' wrong."

Aramis sighed. "Well...it isn't good news." He maneuvered his chair to look at his brothers, his frown growing. "He has sustained two head injuries, a slice to the thigh, extensive burns and lacerations down the entirety of his back, two raw and skin-torn wrists, and on top of that, he is dehydrated and exhausted.

"It looks as though he hasn't slept in days," he finished.

Athos was shocked, eyes widening in surprise, while Porthos placed his hands together over his third eye, sighing. "What does this mean for d'Artagnan?"

"It means he's in for an extended road to recovery."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you all enjoyed it! :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! New chapter! Sorry it took so long, lots of real-life things came up. I hope you all enjoy this one!

Athos paced the dim corridor, lost in his thoughts. Did he actually think that the boy could become a musketeer one day? The words he had spoken to d'Artagnan haunted his mind. He had said them as a way to get the young man to calm down, but he wasn't sure if he himself actually believed them. Athos wasn't sure that the brash, overconfident, and arrogant boy could have the obedience and self-control needed to become a King's soldier. The Gascon that had strode into the garrison on the first day was still there; he had the raw talent, but none of the obedience required to keep a steady mind. Athos felt his chest size as he was reminded of the boy falling limp to the ground once again.

He stopped walking and took a shaky breath. It was doing no one any good for him to lose his cool.

He desperately wanted to run back to the boy's bedside—but he couldn't; he couldn't get attached. Moreover, he needed to talk with Treville about the fiasco, which was why he was pacing the corridor to begin with. The captain was still with the King, making sure that there was no more threat within the palace, so he stood, waiting patiently.

A knock on the wall behind him alerted Athos to Porthos's approaching form.

"Porthos." He nodded. "You get your ribs looked at?"

"Already done. Aramis is with d'Artagnan now. Won't leave 'is side."

Athos didn't say anything.

"According to 'im, the lad's fever is low...but he didn't seem overly optimistic when I asked if that was good."

"He's expecting it to get worse." Athos felt his stomach twist at that, but he put his fear on hold for the time being.

Porthos leaned his body against one of the wooden beams holding up the stone walls around them, sighing. "You waitin' for Treville to get back?"

"I am. Care to join me?"

The man appeared to think about it. then shook his head. "Nah, I gotta help Aramis with d'Artagnan," he replied, looking at him expectantly.

Knowing what his brother implied, Athos relented. "I will come back after I am done with Treville." He smirked. "Don't let the boy die while I'm gone."

"No promises." Porthos smiled wide. "See you there." He then turned around to presumably head back to Athos' room but swung his head back around after taking a few steps, expression darkened. "When d'Artagnan wakes up, y'know we will have to ask about what happened, right?"

Athos shut his eyes. "I know."

_And he hoped to God that his rampaging thoughts were wrong…._

* * *

Aramis dipped the cloth into the chilled water, intending on replacing the one covering d'Artagnan's forehead. The young man's fever wasn't too bad, but that didn't stop Aramis from worrying. He knew that what he was seeing was likely the calm before the storm. The infection in his bloodstream promised a difficult night to come.

He had already cleaned up the Gascon's hairline earlier, relieved that both head wounds were not in need of stitches, but the concussion that d'Artagnan received would be painful when he woke. While normally Aramis would need to wake the lad every few hours, he didn't have the pleasure to do so this time; the infection took precedence. Aramis didn't want d'Artagnan to fall into a coma, but he desperately needed rest to fight the attack on his body.

He sighed, placing the now-damp cloth upon d'Artagnan's head. His lips quirked into a small smile when he saw the boy lean into the cold. D'Artagnan looked so vulnerable when injured—whether it was the lack of personal walls or the pain clouding the young man's thoughts, it made his expression look much less reserved. Aramis would gladly take that face over a pain-filled one. He had given the lad a pain-relieving draught, hoping that it would help him rest easier. And without Athos hovering loudly around the room, Aramis was happy to say that d'Artagnan fell into rest quicker than Aramis thought he would. even if it was a very painful rest.

Small blessings.

Even in his sleep, d'Artagnan shivered, tossing and turning every so often. Between the fever and the stressful experience his mind and body had been through, Aramis wasn't surprised at the lad's behavior, though the symptoms of pain were disheartening.

A softened knock brought Aramis out of his thoughts, the taps turning his gaze to the door. He gently eased himself out of his chair, trying not to disturb d'Artagnan—although he doubted that the lad would actually wake—and stepped to the door. He opened it, revealing Porthos and a slightly disheveled Constance.

"Found 'er by the gate," Porthos explained, nodding his head towards the lady.

Before Aramis could reply, Constance pushed her way into the room, freezing when she saw d'Artagnan's shivering form, the numerous bandages standing out against his tanned skin.

The woman's hand trembled, but she squeezed her fist shut to ground herself before kneeling down next to the bed. "What happened to him?"

Aramis shared a look with Porthos before answering. "...We do not know yet. But we can assume that he was caught in one of the explosions at the palace, same as us."

"If you were caught in it too, why aren't the lot of you in beds as well?"

A moment of silence hung over them, and Aramis felt guilt build inside of him. There was no excuse for their carelessness and lack of forethought. They could have stopped d'Artagnan from going back in.

Porthos was the one to break the silence. "He was closer to the gunpowder than us."

Constance took in a breath, the air coming out steadily, but Aramis could see the struggle she was having with her self-control. A flash of anger spread across her face and she sent a glare towards him and Porthos. She was holding herself together well, given the circumstances.

"What is the fever from?" the woman asked next, though Aramis could see that she already knew the answer.

"Infection," Aramis supplied. "He has many burns spread across his back." He tried to shrink away from her threatening gaze, taking a step towards Porthos; he could still remember the sting from the last time she slapped him.

"Why doesn't he lay face down then?

"It would aggravate his broken and bruised ribs as well as put a strain on his stitches," he replied, grimacing, knowing that she wouldn't want to hear it.

Constance's face paled at that information, reaching a hand to d'Artagnan's forehead. She frowned at the heat, but seemed to steel herself, pulling her arm back to her side. "I shall take my leave, my husband will be wanting to know where I've gone," she said. "Please keep me updated on his condition."

The woman rushed to her feet and out the door before Aramis could say anything, leaving Porthos and Aramis standing awkwardly.

"That woman's a force to be reckoned with."

Porthos gave him a smirk. "I thought you liked violent women."

"I do." Aramis smiled brightly at his brother. "Doesn't mean the woman doesn't scare me sometimes."

He took his place in his chair, mimicking Constance's familiar movement just moments before, his smile slowly twisting into a grimace; the lad's fever had risen slightly.

Porthos sat down at the nearby table, sighing. "Athos is waiting for Treville to get back."

"Oh?" Aramis said.

"Apparently the castle's in an uproar. The captain's definitely got his hands full."

"Understandable, I mean, they did nearly get assassinated, robbed…oh and their palace was bombed." He shrugged his shoulders in mock disinterest.

Porthos chuckled. "Glad we left when we did."

Aramis thought about their missing brother, internally sighing. The man seemed to want to stay as far away from d'Artagnan as he could once Aramis was finished with him, going so far as to 'wait' for Treville to come back when he could have been with them instead. Aramis knew that Athos had a hard time opening up to people, but somehow, he felt d'Artagnan was different. There was something about him that brightened up their trio—even though he had only been there for a short time.

Although Athos thought he could hide it, Aramis saw the silent gazes the man gave d'Artagnan when he thought no one was looking. Athos was growing to care for the boy, and there seemed to be no stopping it. Aramis for one welcomed the change he had seen in his friend. Even after only being in their company for a short while, Aramis saw something clicking in Athos' mind. While minuscule and barely visible, the changes were there.

Aramis would never forget Athos' face when d'Artagnan fell beside Vadim. The terror seeping out of him was enough to make him worried, and when he was unresponsive, Aramis nearly passed out himself. It takes a lot to reduce Athos to that state, and a lot of wine to drag him back out. The man was normally the rock of their group unless something from his past decided to crawl its way back to the surface.

Now, the man was deliberately standing on the sidelines, letting his head rule his heart, Aramis realized, shaking his head. He hoped that Athos had room for one more person to climb his impenetrable fortress.

"Why hasn't he woken yet?" Porthos gestured to d'Artagnan's prone form, raising an eyebrow at Aramis. He could tell the man was concerned: the slight twitch in his gaze, the turned frown. The way his gaze kept slipping from Aramis' and onto the Gascon was a telling sight.

"The young man has been hit in the head twice, forgive his inability to wake, my friend," Aramis replied. "A concussion'll do that." He decided not to mention the fact that the infection was no doubt sapping all the lad's strength; there was no need, Porthos knew already.

"It's strange seein' 'im so still, haven't seen d'Artagnan stay in one place since we met 'im." He shook his head, a solemn frown still taking over the smile that Aramis wished was there.

Aramis nodded once, acknowledging his friend, but chose not to say anything. There was nothing he _could_ say.

_How many ways can a man think of to get killed?_

Aramis couldn't shake the feeling that he failed—failed the captain, his brother, and especially d'Artagnan. He had a bad feeling about the whole thing from the start, but chose to follow along and put his faith in Treville's plan. Athos had detested the plan, claiming that d'Artagnan wasn't ready and that someone more experienced should do it. At the time, Aramis thought that the man was trying to deter Treville from letting the boy get involved because he genuinely didn't believe he could, but now, he saw the truth. Athos didn't want d'Artagnan to do it because the man cared for him—cared for him enough to worry about his well-being.

Porthos had voiced his support of the mission, telling them how he had faith in d'Artagnan. Aramis was sure that the man was punishing himself, letting the guilt build up, just as he was, and, just as Aramis assumed Athos was.

Aramis hadn't even protested the plan once, same as Porthos. He fully went along with it, knowing the danger they were putting d'Artagnan in—and that...that was what made his stomach churn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! No cliffhanger this time :) But as Aramis said...the calm before the storm.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment on what you liked or didn't like. I am honestly just having a lot of fun with this rewrite. Sorry if it is a little slow at getting to the "breaking from canon" part.


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